Cause Of Death
by CSI Dork
Summary: The longer he looked at her, the more he wondered what his cause of death was going to be. Greg Sanders battles to save his own life..or does he?
1. Cause Of Death

A/N - this is something I just threw together this morning because I was going mad with boredom and wanted to write something. I'm very out of practice at the moment having not written for a very long time so I apologise if you think it's a bit pants. I will probably add more to this very soon. Enjoy...

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**Cause Of Death**

**(c) CSI Dork 2007.**

The longer he looked at her, the more he wondered what his cause of death was going to be. Every little action and movement she did made him feel like he was growing ever closer to his fate.

Intoxication?

Asphyxiation?

Mutilation?

Each option seemed more possible the longer he spent in her presence. She appeared oblivious to his fears as she continued on with her work; methodical, thorough, accurate. The occasional glance that she sent his way was the only acknowledgement that she was still aware of his existence in the room. Each of those glances seemed to subtly tease him, goad him as though she wanted him to say something. No sooner had the feeling in his chest tightened at the looks she gave him, than the glance softened and her eyes flickered back to what she was focussed on.

Maybe it was all in his head, some kind of psychological mockery at the weakness he felt in her presence - reminding him that he wasn't physically and mentally strong like other guys. He couldn't bench press two hundred pounds without breaking a sweat. He couldn't turn on the charm without sounding like a perverted college student. He couldn't zoom in like a masked superhero and sweep her off her feet.

So here he was, still wondering what his cause of death was going to be. Every moment that she wasn't his, every kiss he couldn't steal, every look she gave him that reminded him of the fact she didn't love him, just made him feel more and more like she was slowly yet effortlessly incapacitating him like a bug on the windshield.

Intoxicating him with her presence.

Asphyxiating him with her stare.

Mutilating his heart every time she did something to remind him he wasn't with her.

As he swallowed down the feelings and began to focus on his own work with great effort, he began to consider that maybe it was time for things to change. Maybe it was time he started doing some bench presses at the gym. Maybe it was time he worked on his charm. Maybe it was time he started wearing his underwear on the outside of his trousers. Scratch that last thought. He wanted her to notice him but perhaps that wasn't the way to go. Either way he knew he had to do something or this wasn't just going to go away.

Greg Sanders stole a glance in the direction of the woman who was torturing him on a daily basis as she stored something away in her kit, stopping for a moment to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It all seemed to go in slow motion as his mouth went dry and his heart began to thump abnormally against his chest.

It wasn't going to be easy. It wasn't everyday that you turn around and tell a co-worker that you're so unbelievably drawn to her, that you feel like you would just die without her by your side.

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A/N - thankyou for reading thus far. I deliberately haven't said who the woman is mainly because I have a couple of options and haven't yet decided. Hope you liked it, it's very short I know. 


	2. Suicide

A/N - ok, here is my second offering for this story. Not sure it has the same affect as the first chapter intended to. Hope you like it all the same. I'm trying to continue the theme without making it too cliched or corny. Enjoy...

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He was still wondering about how best to avoid his imminent death, or so it felt, as he made his way lethargically into the apartment. Why he felt so sluggish he didn't know. Pulling a double was always tough; it was the millstone around his neck that added the extra strain. Maybe it was already happening and he was slowly coming to a halt. Perhaps she were some contradictory poison – both wonderful and deadly – that was already under his skin, swimming through his veins, poisoning every part of him that was able to feel.

Extracting a beer from the fridge, as habitually as Doc Robbins could remove a gall bladder, he plodded wearily into the living area and took some solace in the comfort of the couch. The soft cushions enveloped his frame, caressing his aching muscles, hugging him almost. Realising that getting such comfort from a piece of furniture and not the woman of his dreams was a little pathetic, he felt a new incentive towards his earlier decision to tell her how he felt.

Running his fingers over the patterns made by the condensation on the bottle, he contemplated how he could word it. What he could say…

'Hey, have a nice evening? By the way I'm obsessed with you,' He spoke the words aloud to an imaginary vision of her and almost laughed at how absurd that sounded.

Obsession. That was a strong word to use; a dangerous game to play. A word associated with the worst of psychopathic criminals. Murderers. Stalkers. He was neither of these. The only crime he was guilty of was loving someone so intensely without any knowledge of how she felt towards him. If she felt anything at all. Besides, obsessed psychopathic stalkers usually had some kind of sexual fixation to go with it. This attraction he had to her wasn't just some masculine desire he had to be with a beautiful woman. There was no denying he felt the physical affects of being near her but there was something else. Her grace, her confidence, the sadness that lay beneath her eyes that he just wanted to protect her from whatever pain she had felt; whatever wrongs had been done to her. He wanted to be her comfort, her confidante, her soul mate.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes and forehead before tracing his fingers through his hair, ruffling the wilted spikes some more. Who was he trying to kid? There was no way in the world that he could tell her how he felt. She would laugh in his face. No she was too good for that. She would think he was making one of his jokes. She could remain speechless and turn away, never speak to him again. That would be the worst option. A fate worse than death. Not having her in his life at all was worse than not having her.

Gently closing his eyes, he held the cooled glass bottle to his forehead in an attempt to relieve the pounding pulse he felt behind his eyes. His realisation that telling her might not be such a good idea was now consuming his every thought, every fear, making him feeling sick inside.

Telling her could be suicide.

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A/N - thank you for reading again and I will post a new chapter soon. I don't think this will be a long fic but I hope you are still interested in it. 


	3. Blunt Force Trauma

A/N - wahey, I finished chapter three and it took a bit more thinking than the other two but I am hyped up on coffee. Hopefully those of you who have been enjoying this story will like this chapter just as much and forgive me for continuing the references to causes of death but it's kind of fun to write anyway so read on...

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He listened warily to the faint crackling sound of gunshots as he approached the door to the Las Vegas Police Department target range. The sound reminded him vaguely of a bowl of Rice Crispies which made him form the slightest of smiles on his face. He wasn't sure why he had agreed to come here. That was a blatant lie! He knew exactly why he had agreed to come here. She had looked at him with those eyes of hers when she asked him. If looks could kill as they say…only this wasn't one of those piercing cut you with a knife looks. It was one of those pleading, playful; no way could a guy in love resist kind of smiles.

Greg took a deep breath in as he carefully pushed open the door and looked around. He was beginning to wonder whether she had stood him up or not. Stood him up? Since when had he decided that this was a date? No sooner did he have a chance to mentally scold himself for being so assumptive than he spotted her. She was standing in a booth, feet firm against the floor, gun in hand pointed at the target. Her face was set and her eyes focussed sternly in the direction her gun was aimed. Much like whenever he caught her gaze. She was always so focussed on everything she did. Dusting a scene for prints, talking down a suspect, tying her shoe laces, it was all done accurately, to perfection almost.

He wondered whether it was a good idea to disturb her whilst she was concentrating this hard with a dangerous weapon in her hand. It felt as though it would be like upsetting the balance of the universe; the effects could be disastrous. Plus, he wasn't one hundred percent sure he wanted to be here in this semi-social situation. There he was again, thinking of it as a date. It wasn't exactly a proper social occasion but, to him, anything that involved conversations other than swapping notes about crime scenes and was somewhat more romantic than discussing semen samples was the closest he could get right now.

Wondering if he could escape now before she noticed his arrival, he began to take a slow step back as if he were trying to run away from a mentally deranged suspect. What had happened to his determination to confess his feelings he didn't know; somewhere in Hawaii taking a nice vacation for now. His stomach was tense and he could feel his heart gradually beginning to thump harder and faster, slowly and increasingly taunting him for being such a coward. It wasn't as if she would do anything to him just for declaring his undying love for her.

Just as he was about to turn and make the final leap to get out of there, she turned around and fixed him with one of her stares. Only the stare wasn't stern, it was a soft smile of familiarity that made him go weak at the knees. A smile that said she was pleased to see him. A smile that made him think he was in with a chance after all. A smile that hit him hard like a ton of bricks.

Blunt force trauma.

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A/N - I'm not completely happy with this chapter but it amused me writing it all the same. Hopefully the next chapter will be better and I may have more interaction in it than previous chapters. Thanks for reading anyway. 


	4. Stab Wound

A/N - Ok, here is my fourth offering for this story. I decided last night that I would wait until this morning to write it and I did but I was laid in bed last night, trying to sleep and I was just writing it in my head anyway. Hope you enjoy this chapter, I think it's slightly different but I have managed to loosely keep the theme going.

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The curtains weren't drawn. They were wide open, framing the window, silently offering an unofficial invitation to any passer-by to take a look inside. The events in the room illuminated for all to see by the low lighting she had probably installed following advice from some trendy home magazine. Though he had always figured she wasn't one to take advice from reading material such as that. But as lips crashed against lips and bodies fell clumsily to the couch, Greg couldn't really give a shit about the curtains. 

After weeks of tiptoeing around the issue and putting off telling her how he felt, he had finally taking the plunge and ended up at her house. Their interactions at work seemed to have crossed the thin line between friendly working banter to actual flirtatious conversation and he had plucked up the courage to ask her.

_'Hey, is it OK if I drop by yours later? I need to talk to you about something,'_ The way the words had fallen casually from his lips had surprised even him after all this time of barely being able to speak coherently in her presence. After the endless minutes practising combinations of sentences in the locker room mirrors. What surprised him further was her immediate acceptance of the suggestion, making him think back to the way she looked at him in the target range some two weeks previously. His imagination was perhaps running a little wild but he had ignored it. Allowing himself to be caught up in the moment and feel a little hope begin to spread through him, like a cure to all the injuries feeling this way had caused.

Fingers fumbled with buttons. Hands pulled mutually at clothing like two lions fighting over the last piece of prey. Lips brushed hungrily against skin. Greg felt his heart rate increase, beating firmly and purposely. Her shirt dropped to the floor. He couldn't understand how he had got himself into this situation.

He had arrived early, flowers in hand, confidence installed and raised a hand to knock on the front door of the small town house she occupied. In a last minute appearance from the nerves and self-doubt he often felt when it came to her he had hesitated, hand held in position, poised to knock. He felt like a high school kid with a crush on the most popular girl in school and he had begun to ask himself why he was even here.

Greg was still asking himself that same question as more fumbling fingers and pulling hands continued the disrobing of clothes. He felt the temperature in his body rise until he was sure his face was beetroot red. A lamp was knocked from the coffee table by an unruly bare foot but made no interruption to this moment of passion.

As he felt his stomach tense and his hands begin to tremble, he knew he shouldn't really be here and all the familiar feelings of needing and wanting her began to tug at him again. It was never meant to be this way.

_'Of course you can drop by Greg,'_ she'd said, a soft smile adorning her face as her eyes fixed upon his. '_Come by around seven we can make a night of it…'_

He forced himself to not bitterly laugh out loud. He cursed himself mentally for being so stupid. His heart thumped even faster and his palms were damp with perspiration. As her delicate fingers ran through Nick Stokes' hair whilst he ran his hands up and down her now naked back and ran kisses along her shoulders, Greg felt sick with a new kind of pain that he had never felt before.

Tearing his gaze from the window and turning slowly away from the door, he tossed the now wilted flowers into the bushes. Greg Sanders felt defeated. No, defeated sounded to gentle and simple. What he was feeling was harsh and more painful than he had ever imagined it was possible to feel. This pain burned every fibre of his being. This pain consumed his mind as he fought back the tears and made his way back to his car sitting there obliviously in the moonlight.

This pain was like a knife wound to the chest except he felt like he had been stabbed in the back.

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A/N - I hope the way I wrote that chapter had the effect I intended it to. 


	5. Heart Failure

A/N - Ok, I overcame the writers block mainly because I hate to leave a project unfinished. Considering this started out as just a one-shot I should be quite pleased with it. Some of the emotions have been based on my own feelings in a current situation I was going through although obviously somewhat exaggerated for the purposes of fiction. I hope this chapter wraps things up OK for the rest of the fic. Please bear in mind that this story was never intended to be more than one chapter so as it's gone along things have maybe become stretched a little. Anyway...I should let you make up your own mind. Thanks for all the reading and reviews.

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**Cause of Death Finale. **

**(c) CSI Dork**

All he felt was tiredness; an overwhelming sense of fatigue that made him wonder how he was still able to remain in charge of his limbs. His common sense told him he wasn't tired although the night of broken sleep hadn't helped. Common sense told him he was just being a girl because he had to go into work and face her. Not that she knew he had accidentally spied on her and Nick Stokes embroiled in a passionate embrace. He sniggered out loud to himself. Passionate embrace? They were practically procreating! They probably did, had he stayed around any longer to find out. The sickening feeling that churned in his stomach told him not to think about it.

At least now he knew for certain that he didn't stand a chance.

Pausing at the door of his car as that thought hit him, he suddenly felt alone. Glancing around the parking lot he saw the end of swing shift heading home. Lab tech's bidding farewell to their colleagues. Ecklie barking sardonic insults into his cell phone. CSI's heading home with agitated expressions upon their faces; a telltale sign that it was impossible not to take their work home with them.

The feeling of isolation seemed so grim and endless. Every day he came to work. Every day he saw the evil and imperfections in the world. Every day he went home after shift, cracked open a beer (or a glass of Merlot on a good day) and watched the television. Suddenly those routine things to which he had become accustomed seemed so mundane. Before, the possibility that she might enter his life seemed to add a spark to the routine. Now that the dream was gone, the proverbial bubble burst, his life suddenly seemed dull and ordinary.

Now that his love had to truly remain unrequited, he felt strange. Different. No longer did he feel as though every emotion that engulfed his body was a death sentence. No longer did he feel like he was protecting himself from whatever injuries these feelings might cause. He was already injured. The pain of the confirmation that her heart lay with someone else was strong enough that he felt he might never recover.

Although he had not, technically, been betrayed by anyone he felt cheated. He had cheated himself. Every chance to tell her his feelings, he had let slip by. Every opportunity to turn on the charm as he had done in the past with women, he had chosen to ignore. All for fear of getting hurt when she turned him down. All that seemed pointless now. Of every thing he had cheated himself out of; there was one thing he had not.

He had not cheated death. For without the sliver of hope that he might find happiness with her, he felt dead inside.

And he knew exactly what he had died of.

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A/N - Thankyou for reading. If you have enjoyed please feel free to read my other fics for your entertainment also. :) 


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